


Afterschool Special

by Nelja-in-English (Nelja)



Series: Porn for every Power [12]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dark Humor, Do Not Archive, Episode 34: Anatomy Class, Episode Related, F/M, Gangbang, Horror, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 15:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18097049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/pseuds/Nelja-in-English
Summary: The Anatomy Students come back to Dr Elliott with a few questions.He hates it even more than before.





	Afterschool Special

At the first knock at his door, Lionel suspects nothing.

Later he'll wonder whether he should have found it hollow or impersonal, but aren't all door knocks? He thinks it's someone trying to sell something, or maybe a neighbour with a question. No one he wants to see, certainly, but he always tries to be polite in these cases.

He opens the door and finds himself face to face with his students from anatomy class.

He never knows which was which, and he's done his best to forget anyway, but he thinks it's Juan Pérez who walks in first and greets him with a chirpy "Hello!"

They repeat it, one after the other, and it seems like exactly the same tone, the same voice, seven times.

"We were passing by, and as you were visiting us the other day, we decided to return the courtesy," a girl says, Lionel believes it's Jan Novak. 

They laugh.

Lionel wants to slam the door closed in their faces, but would it help? They already waited for him. They can wait for a very long time. And he'll have to go outside at some point.

"How did your exams go?" he asks. He doesn't give a damn.

They laugh again, and it lasts longer.

"Professor," one of the boys says, probably one of the Petrov twins, "we have some additional anatomy questions for you."

Lionel, of course, wouldn't usually take questions from former students he met on the street. But he's missed so many courses with them, and he probably owes them this. He would be deadly afraid anyway, but there's also a superstitious fear telling him that if he doesn't answer they have the right to do anything to him.

(Another voice tells him they will do it anyway.)

They stay here, waiting for his answers. They don't try to enter the house, don't even ask. Maybe that’s the reason he lets them in. He feels like it won’t change anything about what they can do to him, and it's cold outside.

They politely direct seven hollow, identical smiles at him. They sit on his chairs, on his carpet, without any invitation. Lionel has no choice but to stay on his feet, like he did in class.

And then all the students lower their trousers.

"You were quite clear on the topic of urination and defecation," one of them explains, "but we never saw the reproductive role of these organs in detail."

Lionel can barely hear the words, horribly mesmerized by what he sees, what he shouldn't look at. Five flaccid penises that look too identical, and two pubic mounds. They are his former students and it's one of the most awkward situations he can imagine, but actually he's too busy being terrified to think about the awkward scale he would use. Or the bad porn movie scale.

"So, when it's stimulated, it becomes harder and bigger? How much exactly?" One of the boys asks.

"There's actually a lot of variation, and..." he babbles. He shouldn’t answer. He feels like his answers are the only gate between him and some terrible fate.

"Show us," another student demands, with a harshness that makes Lionel shudder in terror. Then the student's voice become neutral again when he says. "We can't study this on corpses, obviously."

It's an allusion to the lab dissections they had, Lionel tries to persuade himself, not about whatever was going on in the strange room they seemed to live in.

"Well, for the males, you can take it in your hands, and for the females..."

"Show us!" says one of the boys - it's Fulan al-Fulani, he remembers now - and he pulls down Lionel's trousers and boxers in one confident move. There is a noise of ripping fabric. Lionel realizes only now that he never touched any of them before, never shook a hand - and this brief touch of fingers, it's something he doesn't want to feel again. It's neither warm nor cold, and heavy like a threat.

He should be indignant, summon all of his authority and order them to go home. But he feels, deep below his rational mind, like it doesn't work that way. He must please them or suffer their disappointment - and he doesn't want to know what form it would take.

He takes his penis in his shaking fist and starts to stroke it. Of course, he doesn't get hard. Not in this situation.

"Arousal comes from physical stimulation, but also from the mind," he babbles. "From individuals that are attractive to you, or..." This is no longer anatomy, Lionel is quite sure of it, and he would feel less than comfortable explaining it even to ordinary students. 

As he hesitates about his next words, Erika Mustermann complains. "You interrupted him. He was trying to explain how it works for us."

"Well, let him finish this part first," John Doe answers, his cock in his hand, as instructed. "How does it get hard?"

"Well, there are sensitive parts that must be touched..."

"Which ones?"

Lionel didn't study that in detail, and he can't remember the exact names. Everything in his head is melting into panic.

"It’s taking too long. Let's just see for ourselves!" says Fulan al-Fulani, and he grabs Lionel's shaft.

It actually feels like human flesh, and Lionel doesn't know whether he should feel relieved or horrified about that. He cries out, tries to recoil, but the grasp is too strong and it starts hurting; then, panicking even more, he tries to grab the creature's hand, to reject it.

"Stop doing that," one of them says, seeming vaguely annoyed. "We're trying to understand." But Lionel can no longer explain anatomy. He should stay quiet, maybe, to appease them, but he can’t, he’s still fighting and struggling, even as his sense of self-preservation tells him to stop. He can’t win.

The other students get up. Two of them grab Lionel's wrists. They're so strong, much more than he would have imagined given their body types. They lift him, push him over, make him lie on the sofa.

Lionel is sobbing, deadly afraid of them, of their very existence, even more than of what they will do to him, though he knows it will be dreadful.

Fulan al-Fulani lost hold of his penis in the process, but now he tries to go back. Lionel starts kicking, but two other students hold his legs, and he can only submit to the touch. Once Fulan is there, he's not brutal, slowly exploring, with a touch that could could have been called teasing if he knew what he was doing.

"I want to do it too!" says Piotr Petrov.

And soon they're all taking turns examining his cock and touching it, while Lionel's legs and arms are still firmly held in place by four of them, changing roles here too. At some point, all of them have entirely removed their trousers. 

"Let me touch it!" Erika Mustermann says.

"You don't need it!" One of the boys objects.

"I do!" And in front of Lionel's horrified eyes, her body changes, and a penis grows, while her body becomes wider at the shoulders. "See? I'm Max Mustermann now!"

They complain a bit, but they let her - him - it touch, and they let Jan Novak, too, without complaining... as they experiment on him, they find the sensitive places to touch, insist on it, and Lionel feels himself getting hard. He's certainly not aroused by any psychological measure, but his penis says otherwise.

Maybe this will be enough, maybe they'll let him alone now.

"Oooh!" some of them exclaim. 

And then the boys - the ones with penises - start to make theirs harden too. They're still identical, now looking disturbingly like Lionel's own as shape, size and color go. And they didn't even have to touch them.

They're still taking it in turns to touch Lionel's, though, exploring the texture, the new shape, as it grows harder. He doesn't know whether the humiliation or the fear is stronger, but he feels like he's passed through panic and fallen into deep horror and resignation.

"You said it varies in colour, shape and length, didn't you?" one of them asks. Lionel tries to nod - it seems he's still panicked at the idea he might stop being useful to them as a teacher - and they start... experimenting. The colors are not meant to vary that way, not to the whites and blues and greens, and one of them makes it grow to more than thirty centimeters, laughing, while another bends and twists it as if prehensile...

Lionel feels nauseous.

"What do you do then?" one of them asks.

"Let him explain vaginas now!" Jan Novak protests. "It's my turn." She approaches Lionel, doesn't touch him this time, looks him in the eye. "So, how does arousal manifest? Does the vulva become bigger too?"

It's hard for Lionel to remember the details, as everything he knows about reality seems to make less sense by the moment. "The clitoris, um, does swell a bit, as blood gets into it," he says in a weak, stammering voice. Does he still think he can secure a happy ending like this? Is he broken? Or is it years of professional habit? "But mainly, the inside of the um, vagina produces a secretion for lubrication purposes, and distends to accept a penis."

"Like this?" she asks.

She gets close to Lionel's face, and shows him her huge clitoris; also, liquid starts seeping out her vagina, and dribbles onto his face. It has a disgusting stench of very bitter, rotten tears. Tears can't rot, but if they could they would smell like this.

"No, no!" He answers. He doesn't want to talk, it could get in his mouth. But if he doesn't answer she will keep going. "Far less of it. Actually, most of it..." he has to fight the urge to vomit, stops for a moment. "Most of it stays inside, because it's more viscous, just running a bit onto the thighs..." He's not sure he can explain how wrong the smell is.

They make him put his fingers in it, to check, while his hand is still restrained; he has to pronounce it acceptable in the end.

"Please," he says, as calmly as he can. "I've explained the theory enough, now make groups and try it. I said the penis size can vary, but only between four and nine inches, please, and the curvature is less than this." He indicates John Doe's, who's really going too far with creativity. "Now, make groups of two and try it on each other."

He's their teacher. He can't make them leave, but maybe as long as he's offering them knowledge, he can redirect their enthusiasm. If they're really as naive as they pretend, and not monsters especially tasked to ruin his life. He's had so many nightmares about those beating hearts in their hands, and he shudders, imagining his own...

They actually listen, and follow his instructions, Jan Novak with John Doe - he makes a mental note to be sure of who is who, hoping to enhance his credibility by remembering it - Erika Mustermann with Pavel Petrov, and for the other ones... it's Juan Pérez who seems to have developed a vagina, and Fulan al-Fulani starts to fill it with enthusiasm...

Piotr Petrov is still holding both of his wrists, and looking at him in a way Lionel really doesn't like. At best, it's disappointment at not having a study partner, and at worst...

"You can still go with them," he babbles. "Even though it has no reproductive purpose, we male humans take pleasure in putting penises in a partner's mouth or anus."

(He just admitted they are not human. He tries not to blame himself. They stopped pretending quite a while ago.)

For a moment, Piotr Petrov looks at him like he just invented sodomy on the spot to get rid of him. Then he stands up and approaches the others. Lionel is free, can sit, can think. Can realize that he's not safe at home and there's nowhere he can flee to, just hope it's finished soon. He tries to think about how many courses he missed, how much time it adds up to (even though it's probably of no importance.)

There's nothing sexy in the students fucking, with no trousers and in their tee-shirts. When they ask him "Like this?" he tries to advise them on positions or rhythm, in monosyllabic answers, but actually, he doesn't want to look at this at all. He doesn't want to look at how Piotr Petrov exudes lubricant out of his cock to fuck Fulan Al-Fulani, but he still has to put a fake smile on a face that’s not really his and approve when asked. And of course talking about actual affection, and kisses, and smiles, is out of the question. He's not sure they can learn those.

"How long should we be doing this?" John Doe asks.

"Do you even like it?" Lionel explodes. He's so nervous he's crying. He can't control himself. "There's meant to be pleasure, and it's meant to be growing, with the heart beating faster, until the orgasm, when semen comes out from the penis, and gets from the vagina to the womb - by itself - can you even... It doesn't matter."

"I'm sure you're doing this all wrong!" Erika Mustermann says, and she smiles to Lionel, like she's glad they share the same opinion. Then she just pushes Pavel Petrov out.

"Help me to get him hard," she says. "We all want to see the real thing."

Lionel jumps to his feet, tries to run. He doesn't get far. Quite soon they've all stopped what they were doing - _they must have found it as boring as you did_ , Lionel's unhelpful brain supplies - and are all on him. They force him to lie down, restrain his ankles and wrists again.

"Stop it!" he cries out. "Stop!"

"No?" one of them answers, like it was a trick question. "We haven't finished."

And they start touching his penis again, and he doesn't want to get hard. He wants them to stop, he's crying and writhing, and they keep touching and buzzing with excitement as Lionel can't stop himself from stiffening again.

He closes his eyes. He doesn't want to see which of the students touch him, which one sucks his penis into its vagina. It's not meant to suck that way. He can no longer point it out. He does not want to. He wants it to be over. Why did he ever try to pretend they had different faces anyway?

"I will try out what he told us," one of them says, and pushes its cock into Lionel's mouth.

He doesn't want to suck, but closing his mouth around it seems the only way to prevent it from going right to his throat, so he does it anyway. It tastes all wrong; maybe with his eyes closed he can imagine he's not being raped, he's sucking some kind of disgusting plastic instead.

The illusion is shattered, though, when a dirty liquid spurts into his mouth, and even when he spits it out on his carpet the taste remains, foul and neither fully chemical neither fully organic. He gets immediately stuffed with another one. It moves into his throat, in a way penises shouldn't.

He no longer feels like a teacher, like a human. He imagines he’s one of the corpses they practiced on, that cannot feel or suffer or react, even as horrible things are done to them.

They keep talking, but his brain can no longer understand these meaningless words. "He's a really good teacher, I like him." "Did you know we could do that?"

He feels a vagina contract around his cock - it seems one of them managed something like an orgasm - but another takes its place, moister and disturbingly cold.

He doesn't come. He comes close sometimes. He wishes he could, maybe that way they would stop riding him. Maybe. But he can't. He's far from aroused enough for it - but too much to go soft again.

"Give me some room," Lionel hears, and he's forced to tip over. Some of the students protest indignantly, but they don't act, as a big, slippery phallus enters Lionel's ass. He's stopped thinking about it in terms of whole people. Maybe it's safer. Maybe it's even more horrible. They're just a mass of body parts, hands, penises, vaginas, toying with him. He loses all notion of time, can't recall how long ago it started, can't envision it ever finishing.

When he comes in the end, overstimulated, it's deeply unsatisfying. But at least they saw it, so maybe they can leave now? But they keep filling him, and he's sure they're trying again, even the ones who already sullied him, just to follow his example.

He doesn't realize at first when they're gone. He's still pinned to the ground - but he tries to move, and discovers he can. The hand that grasped his wrist is now only that, a hand, and he can lift it with no effort. The pulsing penises in his ass and mouth - he can catch them, throw them away, and they keep mechanically pulsing, like the most disturbing toys in the world.

He's covered in inhuman slime and part of him wants to do the scientific thing and chemically analyze it, but mainly he wants a very hot shower - he will never be clean again - he still wants the shower.

Later, when he can do more than shiver and cry and forget what legs are meant to do.


End file.
